Chapter 2
At the wedding, Mike was the picture-perfect groom.
He helped with my dress and kept the drinks away from me. When we exchanged rings, his eyes sparkled with joy.
Even I almost believed he truly wanted to build a life with me.
I set my phone face down on the bed, ignoring the message.
Half an hour later, a knock came at the door.
Mike's voice came through the door. "Open up."
I didn't want to.
He knocked twice more and said bluntly, "Claire, don't make me cause a scene on our wedding night. The neighbors will hear."
I let out a bitter laugh and stood up to open the door.
"So you care if the neighbors hear but not about how I feel, right?" I said.
Mike stood in the doorway with his suit jacket off and tie loosened, looking tired.
He reached out to touch me, but I stepped back.
His hand froze mid-air, his eyes darkening.
"Claire, Sophie is in the past," he said. "That design was set before. When I bought the house, I was in a hurry, and the decorator was a friend, so I didn't bother changing much.
"I'll have someone take those clothes away. It's just a small thing. Don't make a big deal out of it."
I looked at him and suddenly asked, "Do you know what style I actually like?"
He paused, caught off guard.
I pressed on. "Do you know I hate scented candles, curved lighting, flowers in the bedroom, benches at the foot of the bed, and anything pink?"
He didn't say a word.
I let out a bitter laugh, so forced that it felt ugly even to me.
"See? You never really knew me," I said.
"You always said you didn't care where we lived," he said, frowning. "Back when we were renting, you never cared about these things."
"Not caring where we live is one thing. Being shoved into another woman's fantasy world is something else entirely," I shot back.
Everything went quiet after that.
Mike's jaw tightened. After a long pause, he said, "Fine. Sleep here tonight. We'll talk tomorrow."
He turned and walked away, like I was just having a mood swing and would snap out of it tomorrow.
As the door clicked shut, I stood there, suddenly wanting to laugh.
"We'll talk tomorrow," he'd said.
Men were all like that.
When they screwed up, they tried to brush things off for today and hope the woman would let it go.
But he didn't realize that after tonight, some things would never be the same.
That night, I barely slept.
As soon as dawn broke, I was awake.
I went to the bathroom to wash my face. But when I opened the door, I froze.
On the sink were two electric toothbrushes, one black, one white.
The cups had names on them.
"Mike" and "Sophie."
There was no cup for me.
In the mirror, I was still in the dress from last night, my face pale, like a guest who'd accidentally ended up in someone else's home.
Turned out, I was wrong last night.
It wasn't just the master bedroom that still belonged to Sophie.
Her presence was everywhere, in every corner of this house.
I picked up the cup with "Sophie" on it, stared at it for a second, and tossed it straight into the trash.
As the cup cracked in the trash, Mike walked out of the kitchen, holding two cups of coffee.
His expression shifted the moment he saw the shards on the floor.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
I looked up at him. "Just cleaning up."
His eyes fell on the trash can, and his voice went cold. "Claire, don't go too far."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"So tossing a cup is too much, but turning our whole home into her dream isn't?" I shot back.
He slammed the coffee cups down on the table, his temples throbbing.
"I already said I'd handle it," he said.
"Handle it? To what extent?" I pressed. "Rip down the curtains? Swap out the furniture? Or are you finally going to get Sophie out of your mind, too?"
It was like flipping a switch in him.
Mike's eyes shot up, his tone biting. "You really have to bring her up?"
"I'm not the one bringing her up. You're the one who can't let her go," I shot back.
He went quiet for a few seconds and let out a cold laugh.
"Yeah, I haven't let her go. Happy now?" Mike said.
My heart sank.
He looked at me, like I'd finally pushed him past his limit, and he just dropped the act.
He said, "Sophie and I were together for five years. We almost got married. Then she left the country. We planned this place together back then.
"I never bothered to change it, and honestly, I don't see the point in wiping out everything from before. Now we're married. You're Mrs. Benson. Isn't that enough for you?"
Was that supposed to be enough for me?
I couldn't believe how absurd it sounded.
So in his eyes, as long as I got the title, I was just supposed to ignore everything else.
I stared at him. "So you want me to live out her fantasy, sleep in the bed she picked, go through life the way she wanted, and just thank you for making me Mrs. Benson, right?"
Mike didn't say a word.
His silence said more than any confession could.
All of a sudden, I didn't even want to cry anymore.
I was just exhausted.
I was so tired that even fighting felt pointless.
I walked over, picked up the coffee he'd made for me, and took a sip.
It was a hazelnut latte, lightly sweetened.
It was Sophie's favorite.
But I was lactose intolerant.
I set the cup down and said softly, "Mike, let's get a divorce."
He froze, like he never expected me to say it so soon.
He frowned, "You're really asking for a divorce over all this?"
"Over all this?" I repeated, my smile barely there. "You wouldn't let me into the master bedroom on our wedding night. Her clothes and toothbrush are still lying around. Even the coffee is made the way she likes it. And you think that's nothing?"
Mike stared at me, his eyes growing darker.
"Claire, don't throw around the word 'divorce.' The wedding just happened. How are you going to explain this to your parents? What about the business deals? If you make a fuss, it's not just me who'll end up embarrassed," he said.
As soon as he said that, I could tell he was still weighing everything in his head.
He was weighing his image, his interests, and the fallout.
But my feelings? They never even crossed his mind.
Looking at him, I suddenly understood why I was so quiet when I cried last night.
Because when one's heart really broke, it didn't make a sound.
I didn't say anything else. I just went back to the guest room to pack my things.
He followed me in, barely holding back his anger. "Where are you going?"
"To my mom's," I said.
"If you leave today, do you even know what people will say?" he snapped.
I zipped up my suitcase and looked at him. "You didn't care what people would say when you kept me out of the master bedroom on our wedding night, did you?"
He was left speechless.
Just then, his phone rang.
The screen lit up, and I caught the caller ID: Sophie.
Everything froze for a second.
Mike flipped his phone over, almost on reflex, hiding the screen.
But it was already too late.
I saw it.
And he knew I saw it.
I suddenly found it laughable.